14 comments:

I'm sitting here listening to George Gershwin (not his songs - him - I have an mp3 of a tape of some fairly recently discovered piano rolls) and thought I'd drop in say hello. And by one of those synchonicities that always happen to me the top poem is about your sister playing the piano. A lovely poem which, if I'm not mistaken, I've read before - surely you didn't eat the grapes from the wallpaper in TWO poems.) But I don't recall seeing the painting. Surely, you didn't paint it. It's astounding!

GRIND IT UP AND SPIT IT OUT, THEY SAID

Eat Your Words

"I know we're not saints or virgins or lunatics; we know all the lust and lavatory jokes, and most of the dirty people; we can catch buses and count our change and cross the roads and talk real sentences. But our innocence goes awfully deep, and our discreditable secret is that we don't know anything at all, and our horrid inner secret is that we don't care that we don't."— Dylan Thomas